~~ f .
~'~~ k:
BY WM. BREWSTER.
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elect 'pall
THE PROUD MISS ME BRIDE
12SlialD @i Cf 011.12111.
BY .1011 E G. SASH,
0, terribly proud was Mien Mae Bride,
Thu very personification of pride,
As she minced along in fashion's tide,
Aduwn Broadway—on the proper side—
When the golden sun was setting
There was pride in the bend she carried so high,
Pride in her lip, and pride in her eye,
Aud a world of pride in the very sigh
That her stately bosom was fretting;
A sigh that a pair of elegant feet,
Sandalled in satin, should kiss the street—
The very same that the vulgnr greet,
In common leather not over "neat"—
l'or such is the common booting;
(And christian tears may well be shed,
That even among our gentlemen-bred,
The glorious Dey of Morocco is dead,
And Day and Martin are reigning instead,
On a much inferior footing I)
0, terribly pround was Miss Mac Bride,
Proud of her beauty, and proud of her pride,
And proud of fifty matters beside, •
That wouldn't bare borne dissection;
Proud of her wit, and proud of her walk,
Proud of her teeth, and proud of her talk,
Pround of "knowing cheese from chalk,"
On a very slight inspection.
Proud abroad, and proud at home,
Proud wherever she chanced to come—
When she was glad, and when she was glum :
Proud as the head of a Saracen
Over the door of a tippling shop
Proud as a Duchess, proud as a fop,
"Proud as a boy with a bran new top,"
Proud beyond comparison 1
It sums a singular thing to say—
But her very senses led her astray
Respecting all humility;
In sooth, her dull auricular drum
Could find in humble only a "hum,"
And heard no sound of "gentle" come,
In talking about gontility.
What lowly meant, she didn't know,
For she always avoided "everything low,"
With care the most punctilious;
And queerer still, the audible sound
Of "super-silly" she no'cr had found
In the adjective supercillious
Tho meaning of mock she never knew,
But imagined the phrase had something to do
With "Moses," a peddling German Jew,
Who, like all hawkers, the country through,
Was a "person of no position."
And it seemed to her exceedingly plain,
If the word was realy known to pertain
To a vulgar German, it wasn't germane
To a lady of high condition I
Even her graces—not her grace,
For that was in the "vocative case"—
Chilled with the touch of her icy face,
Sat very stiffly upon her I
She never confessed a favor aloud,
Like one of the simple, common crowd,
But coldly smiled, and faintly bowed—
As who should say: "You do me proud,
And do yourself and honor I"
t tt . : : ,,:iftingb,oit(Joiiir '..,.tt1,
I SEE NO STAR ABOVE THE HORIZON, PROMISING LIMIT TO OUIDE US, BUT THE INTELLIOENT, PATRIOTIC, UNITED WIIIO PARTY OP TILE UNITED STATES."- [WEBSTEW
And yet the pride of Miss Mae Bride,
Although it had fifty hobbies to ride,
Mad really no foundation ;
But like the fabrics that gossips devise—
Those single stories that often arise,
And grow till they reach a founstory size—
Was merely a fancy creation
'Tis a curialus fact as ever was known
In human nature, but often shown
Alike in castle and cottage,
That pride, like pigs of a certain breed,
Will manage to live and thrive on "feed"
As puor as a pauper's pottage
That her wit should never have made her vain,
Was—like her face—snfficiently plain;
And, as to her musical powers,
Although she sang until she was hoarse,
And issued notes with a banker's force,
They were just such notes as we never endorse
For any acquaintance of ours.
Her birth, indeed, was uncommonly high—
For Miss Mac Bride first opened her eye
Through a skylight dim, on the light of the sky;
But pride is a curious passion—.
And in talking about her wealth and worth,
She always forgot to mentions her birth
To people of rank and fashion
$1 25
1 50
2 50
Of all the notable things on earth,
The queerest one is pride of birth,
And our "fierce Democracier
A. bridge across a hundred years,
Without a prop to save it from sneers—
Not even a couple of rotten peers—
A thing for laughter, {leers and jeers,
Is American aristocracy!
English nod Irish, French and Spanish,
(Amman, Italian, Dutch and Danish,
Crossing their viens until they vanish
In ono conglomeration
So subtle a tangle of blood, indeed,
No heraldry.llarvey will ever succeed
In finding the circulation.
Depend upon it my snobbish friend.
Your family friend you can't nseend
Without good reason to apprehend
You may find it waxed at the farther end
By 30111 C plebeian vocation I
Or, worse than that, your boasted line
May end in a loop of stronger twine
That plagued some worthy relation I
But Miss Mae Bride to something beside
Iler lofty birth to nourish her pride—
For rich was the old paternal Mac Bride,
According to public rumor!
And he lived "up-town" in a splendid square,
And kept his daughter on dainty fare,
And gave her gems that were rich and rare,
And the finest rings and things to wear,
And feathers enough to plume her!
_1
An honest mechanic was Sohn Mac Bride,
As ever an honest calling plied,
Or graced an honest duty;
For John had worked in his early day,
Is "pots and pearls," the legends say—
And kept a shop with a rich array
Of things in the soap and candle way,
In the lower part of the city
No "rata avis" was honest John,
(That's the Latin for "saLle swan ;")
Thought in one of fancy's flashes,
A wicked wag, who meant to deride,
Called hottest John Mr. Phamix Mac Bride,"
"Because he rose front his asks
Little by little, lie grew to be rich,
_ .
By saving of candle•euds and Niel',"
Till he reached ut last an opulent ni the—
No very uncommon affair ;
For history quite confirms the law
Expressed in the ancient Scottish saw,
"A Mickle may come to be main.''*
,lack 1 for many ambitious beaux I
She hung their hopes upon her nose,
(The figure is quite Iteratiun)—
Until from habit the member grew
As very a hook as ever eye knew,
To the commonest observation.
A. thriving tailor begged her hand,
But she gave "the fellow" to understand,
By a violent manual action,
She perfectly .scorned the best of his clan,
And reckoned the ninth of any man
An exceedingly Vulgar Fraction.
Another, whoso sign was a golden boot,
\Vas mortified with a bootless suit,
In a way that was quite appalling ;
For, though a regular suitor by trade,
He wasn't the suitor to suit the maid,
Who cut him off with the saw—and bade
"The cobbler keop to Lis calling."
(The muse must let the secret out—
There isn't the faintest shadow of doub t
That folks who oftenost sneer and flout
At "the dirty, low mechanicals."
Are they whose sires, by pounding their knees,
Or coiling their legs, or trades like these,
Contrive to win their children ease
From poverty's galling manacles)
A rich tobacconist comes and sues,
And thinking the lady would scarce refuse
A man of his wealth, and liberal views,
Began at once with "If you choose—
And could you really lovo him"—
But the lady spoiled his speech in a huff,
With an answer rough and ready enough,
To lot him know she was up to snuff,
And al together above him.
A young attorney, of winning grace,
Was scarce allowed to "open his face,"
Ere Miss Mae Bride had closed his case,
With a true judicial celerity ;
For the lawyer was poor, and "seedy" to boot,
And to say the lady discarded his suit,
Is merely a double verity l
no last of thoso who come to court,
Was a lively bean, of the dapper sort,
"Without any visible means of support"
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 20, 1854.
A crime by no means flagrant
In one who wears an elegant coat,
But the very point on which they vote
A ragged fellow a "vagrant."
A courtly fellow was Dapper Jim,
Sleek and supple, and tall and trim,
And smoth of tongue as neat of limb,
And meagre his meagre pocket,
You'd say, from the glittering tales he told,
That Jim was rocked in a cradle of gold,
With fortunes to ruck it
Now, Dapper Jim his courtship plied,
(I wish the fact could be denied)
With an eye to the purse of old Mac Bride,
And really "nothing shorter I"
For he said to himself, in his greedy lust,
"Whenever he dies—as die he must,
And yield to leaven his vital trust—
He's very sure to "come down with his dust,"
In behalf of his only daugher."
And the very magnificent Miss Mac Bride,
Half in love, and half in pride,
Quite graciously relented ;
And tossed her head, and turning her back—
No token of proper pride to lack—
To be a bride without the "Mae,"
With much disdain consented I
Alas! that people who've got their box
Of cash beneath the best of locks,
Secured from all financial shocks,
Should stock their fancy stocks,
And make a rush upon Wall street rocks,
Without the least apology !
Alas the people whose money affairs,
Are sound, beyond all need of repairs,
Should ever tempt the bulls and bears
Of Mammon's fierce zoology.
Old John Mac Bride, one fatal day,
Became the unresisting prey
Of fortune undertakers ;
And staking all on a single die,
His foundered barque went high and dry
Among the brokers and breakers I
At his trade again, in the very shop
Where, years before, he let it drop,
lie follows has ancient calling—
Cheerily, too, in poverty's spite,
And sleeping quite as sound at night,
As, when, ut fortune's giddy height,
He used to wake with a dizzy fright,
From a dismal dream of flilling.
But alas I fur the haughty :Miss Mac it ide,
'Twas such a shock to her precious pride!
She couldn't recover, although she tried
Her jaded spirits to rally
'Twos a dreadful change in Intirat4 affairs,
From a place 'l.7p-town,' to a nook ‘124-stairs,
From an Avenue down to an Alley!
'Twos little condolence she had, God wot,
From her 'troops of friends,' who hadn't forgot
The air she used to borrow ;
They had civil phrases enough, but yet
'Twas plain to see that their "deepest regret"
Was a different thing from sorrow!
They owned it couldn't have well been were°
To go from full to empty puree ;
To expect a "recursion," and get a reverse,
Was•truly a dismal feature !
But it wasn't strange—they whispered—at all!
That the Summer of pride should have its Fall,
Was quite according to nature
And one of those who make a pun,
As if it were quite legitimate fun
To be blazing away at every one,
With a regular, double-loaded gun—
Remark'd that moral transgression
Always beings retributive stings
To candle•makers, as well as kings
For "making light of cererns things,"
Was a very wicked profession
And vulgar people—the saucy churls—
Inquired shout "the Price of Pearls,"
And mock'd at her situation ;
"She wasn't ruined—they ventured to hope—
Because she was poor, she needn't mope—
Few people were better off for soap,
And that was a consolation I"
And to make her cup of woe run over,
Her elegant, ardent, plighted lover
Was the very first to forsake her;
"He quite regretted the step, 'twos true—
The lady had pride enough 'for two,'
But that alone would never do
To quit the butcher and baker !
And now the unhappy Miss Mae Bride—
The merest ghost of her early pride—
Bewails her lonely position ;
Cramp'd in the very narrowest niche,
Above the poor, and below the rich—
Was ever a worse condition?
MORAL.
Because you flourish in worldly affairs,
Don't be haughty and put on airs,
With insolent pride of station I
Don't be proud and turn up your nose
At poor people in plainer clothes,
But learn, for the sake of your mind's repose,
That wealth's a bubble, that comes—and goes I
And that all proud flesh, wherever it grows,
Is subject to irritation.
* 'Wickle wi' thrift may chance to be mfr."—
Scotch proverb. [We fancy the poet hero al.
hales also to Andrew H. Mielde t a worthy to.
bacconist, who was recently Mayor of New
York.]
MS. The Albany Register says: "We lutes
raceivd the following. What does it mean 7
" ‘MASSEIi'SUOYEVAR 7"
TERISSEY 1"
" KOOLEUSEOMVOII?"
" 'LLEWYLBAKRAMER."
"OSYASTSODUOY ?"
Guess it takes a kft•hauded man to find oat,
The parentage of a lie is the most difficult
of all to trace. It is intle,l a clever lie that
knows its own fittizer
( ( "IIiiSCCILIIIO3IIS.
Sleep.
Sleep is ono of the wisest regulations of Na.
ture, to check and-moderate at fixed periods
the incessant and impetuous stream of vital
consumption. It forms, as it were, stations for
our physical and moral existence; and we there
by obtain the happiness of being daily re-born,
and of passing every morning through a state
of annihilation into a new anti refreshed
Without this continual change, this incessant
renovation, how wretched and insipid would
life be; and how depressed our mental es well
as physical sensations I The greatest ',Wiese.
pher of the present age says, therefore, with
justice: "Take ft man hope and sleep. and
he will lie the most crotched being on earth !
How unwisely then do those act who imag
ine that by taking as little sleep as possible
they prolong their existence. Nothing accel
erates consumption so much, nothing wastes
us so much before the time, and renders us
old, as went of sleep. Its physical effects are,
that it retards all the vital power, and restores
what has been lost in the course of the day;
and that it separates from us what is useless
and pernicious. It as it were a daily cri
sis, during which all secretions are performed
in the greatest tranquility, and with the utmost
perfection.
We must not, however, on this account, be
.4iere that too long continued sleep is one of
the best means (or preserving life. Long sleep
accumulates too great ass abundance of perni
cious juices, makes the organs too fluid and
unlit tbr nee, and in this mantic: can shorten
life also.
In a word, no one should sleepless than six:
nor more thun eight lmurs. This may be estab
lished as a general rule.
Tu those who wish to enjoy sound and peace
ful repose; and to obtain the whole cud of
sleep, I recommend the following observations:
First.—The place where oue sleeps must be
quiet and obscure. The less our senses are
acted upon by external impressions, the Inure
perfectly con the soul rest. Unit may see fruits
this how improper the custom is of having n
candle horning in one's bed•clambcr during
the night.
Second.—People unqht always to reflect that
their bed-elm:her is r. plaee,in which they pm,
a great part of their lives; at least, they do not
remain in any piace so long in the sank situ
ation. It is of the utmost imp:wt.:wee, there
fore, that this pinee.koui , ', contain pure, ;:ental
air. A. sleeping apartment must, comiegnent
ly, be roomy and high ; neither inhabit al nor
heated during the day i :tad the windows ought
always to be l:ept open.
Third.—One should eat little, nod only cold
food for supper, always and some hours before
going to bed.
•
Fourth.—When a-bed, one should lie not in
a forced or constrained posture, but almost
horizontally; the heal excepted, which ought
to be a little raised. Nothing is more preju
dicial than to lie in bed half sitting. The bo
dy then terms an angle; circulation in the
stomach is checked, and the spine is always
very much compressed. By this custom, one
of the principle ends of sleep, a free and unin
terrupted circulation of the blood, is defeated;
and in infancy and youth, deformity and croak.
edne,.s are often consequences.
Fifth.— All the cares and burdens of the
day must be laid aside with ones clothes; none
of' them must be carried to bed with us; and in
this respect, one by custom may obtain very
great power over their thought. I am acquain
ted with no practice more destructive than that
of studying in bed, and of reading till one falls
asleep. By these means the soul is put into
great activity, at a period when everything con
spires to allow it perfect rest ; and it is natu
ral that the ideas thus excited, should wander
and float through the brain during the whole
night, It is not enough to sleep physically ;
man must sleep also spiritually. Such a dis
turbed sleep is as sufficient as its opposite—
that is, when our spiritual part sleeps, but not
our corporeal; such, for example, as sleep in a
jolting carriage on a journey.
Sixth;—One circumstance, in particular, I
must not hero omit to mention. Many believe
that it is entirely the same if ono sleeps these
seven hours either in the day or the night time,
People give thenuelves up therefore, at night,
as long as they think proper, either to study
or pleasure, and imagine that they make every
thing even when they sleep in the forenoon,
those hours which they sat up after midnight,
But I must request every one, who regards his
health; to beware of so seducing an error. It is
certainly not the 6111110, whether one sleeps
seven hours by day or by night; and two hours
sound sleep before midnight are of more ben
efit to the body than four hours in the day.—
My reasons arc as follows t
That period of twenty-four hours. formed by
the regular revolution of our earth, in which
all the inhabitants partake, is particularly din
anguished in the physical economy of man.—
This regular period is apparent in all diseases;
and all the other small periods so wonderful
in our physical history,. are by it really deter
mined. It is, as it were, the unity of our nat
ural chronology. Now, it is observed, that the
more the end of these periods coincides with
the conclusion of tho day, the more is the pul
milieu accelerated; mid a feverish state is pro•
duced, or the so-called evening fever, to which
every man is subject. The accession of new
chyle to the blood may, in all probability. con
tribute something toward this fluver, though it
is not the only cause; tor we find it in sick pen-
pie, who have neither eat nor drank. It is
more owing, without doubt, to the absence of
the sun, and to tl.at revolution in the Minos
phut) which is connected with it. This even
ing liver is the reason why nervous people find
then,selves more lit for labor during the night
than clueing the day. To become active they
must have en artificial stimulus; and the even.
ing fever supplies the place of wine. But ono
may easily perceive that this is an unnatural
state; and the consequences are the same as
those of every simple fever—lassitude, sleep,
and a crisis, by the perspiration which takes
place during that sleep. It may with propri
ety, therefore, be said that al' men every night
have n critical perspiration, more perceptible
in some and less so to others, by which what
ever pernicious particles have been imbibed
by our bodies, or created in them during the
day, are secreted and removed. This daily
crisis, necessary to every man, is particularly
requisite for his support; and the proper period
slit is when the fever has attained to its high.
cot degree, that is, the period when the sun is
in the nadir, consequently, midnight.
Those who spend the night in labor, and the
morning in sleep, lose that time which is most
beautiful and the best fitted for labor. Alter
every sleep we are renovated in the properest
sense of the word ; we are, in the morning, al
ways taller than at night; we have then snore
pliability, powers and juices; in a word more
of the characteristics of youth; while, at night
our bodies are drier and more_ exhausted, and
the properties of old age then prevail. One
therefore, may consider earls day as a sketch,
in minature, of human life, in which the morn
ing represents youth; noon . , manhood: and
evening, old age; and never does man enjoy
the sensation of his own existence so purely
and in so great perfection as in a beautiful
morning. Ile who neglects this period, neg
lects the youth of his life.
John Wesley in his Old Age.
There is no sight more refreshing and instruc•
Live than a cheerful, active old man. Let us
look upon Wesley in his hale old age.
The excellent Alexander Knox met Km a
few years before his death, and declared that
every hour spent in his company afforded him
fresh reason for esteem and veneration. "So
fine an old man I never saw. The happiness
of his mind beamed forth in his countenance;
every look showing how fully he enjoyed
"The gay remember - Ince of a life wellspent."
In him old age appeared delightful, like au
evening without a cloud."
It would not have been difficult to identify
that old man anywhere, whether in London
or any of the cities of his sojourn, or his tray
el. Few however, would have judged him
to be whittle was, from his external appear.
ane, merely. Little of the daring innovator
was there in his mien. In some distant part
of England, yougtight have seen a man pars
Sale'! hits journey resolutely so horseback, and
showing by the book in his hand, that he
grudged to lose a single moment of time. You
might see it man walking with firm step
through sonic town and village, giving proof
in every motion that he had work to do. Ilis
stature was under middle size, his habit of
body thin but compact. A clear, smooth fore
head, an aquiline nose, as eye of piercing
brightness, a complextion of perfect healthful
nem, distinguished him among all others.
Even his dress was characteristic—the perfec
tions of neatness and simplicity, perhaps with
a little touch of primness; a narrow, plaited
stock, a coat with a small, upright collar—his
cloths without any of the usual ornaments of
silk velvet—combined with a head as white as
snow to give the idea of a man of peculiar
private character.
Oue book he always carried with him in his
journeys besides the Bible. It was his Dairy.
Would we learn what view of life the old man
takes, we can seem to look over his shoulder
on his eighty-sixth birth-day, and read what ho
has written. June 28, 1783, ho writes ;'
"I this day enter upon my eighty-sixth year.
And what cause have I to praise God, as
for a thousand spiritual blessings, so for a thou.
sand bodily blessings also. How little have
I suffered yet from the rush of my numerous
years."
After mentioning a few marks of the infirmi
ty of age, he declares that he feels no such
things as weariness either in traveling or
preaching.
"And I am not conscious of any decay in
writing sermons, which I do as readily, and I
believe as correctly as ever.
"To what cause can I impute this, that I am
as I am? First, doubtless, to the power of
God lilting me for the work to which I am cal.
led, us long as he pleases to continue therein;
and next, subordinatly to this, to the prayers of
his children.
"May we not impute it to inferior means?
First. To my constant exercise and change of
air? Second. To my neVcr having lost a
night's sleep sick or well, on land or sea since
I was hors ? Third. To my having sleep at
command, so that, whenever I feel myself
worn out, I call it and it comes day or night ?
Fourth. To my constant preaching at five in
the morning for about five years ? Six. To
my having had so little sorrow or anxious
care ?
Even now, though I find pain daily in my
eye, or temple or arm, yet it is never violent
and seldom lasts many minutes at a time.—
Whether or not this is sent to give me war
ning that 1" am shortly to quit this tabernacle,
I do know, but it is one way or other, I have
only to say—
"My remnant of days,
I spent to his praise,
Who died the whole world to redeem,
Be it may or few,
My days are his doe,
And they all aro devoted to him."
So it proved three years afterwards. In
1791, March 2d, at the age eightyeight, ho
breathed his last, with a hymn of praise on
his lips. With the little strength remaining ;
he cried out to his friends watching his de•
parture—''The best of all is, God is . with or,
and could only whisper the first two wads of a
favorite psalm—l'll praise, I'll praise." His
friends were, !olio linish the lines,thr Wesley's
voice was to beWard no more.—Rev. Samuel
Osgood.
Keep it Before the PSople.
The follo;ing remarks, which we find cir•
entitling in our exchanges, are true as preach
ing, and well worth the consideration of all
L Keep it before the people—That, next to
the pulpit, the press is the most potent instru
meat of good to the church and the world in
operation at the present day.
2. Keep it before the people—That the
cheapest, casiest,and most interesting medium
of conveying to a family information on a vast
variety of important subjects, is through the
well•stored columns of a judiciously conducted
newspaper.
3. Keep it before the people—That the head
of a family who refuses to subscribe and pay
fur a good paper on account of its cost, "is
penny-wise and pound•feolish," as he not only
keeps them in ignorance of many things they
ought to know, which cannot be acquired in
any other way, but he excludes himself from
information of practical utility, oftentimes con
tained in a single number, which may be worth
to him many times as much as the subscription
fur the whole year.
4. Keep it before the people—That the pre
paration and issue of every somber of a paper
is attended with considerable labor and cost,
and that it is something more than meannes3
for a man to make a practice of borrowing
and reading a paper for which other people
have had the honor and honesty to subscribe
and pay.
5. Keep it before the people—That every
well conducted paper is worth a hundred fold
more than what it costs, in its influence on in
dividual and public intelligence, morality and
religion ; and that they are true patriots who
can conscientiously noel liberally support a
vigorous and enlightened press.
Origin of Various Plants.
Every genseman farmer ought to be somo•
what acquainted with the origin and history of
all ordinary plants and trees, so as to knew
their nature, country and condition. Such
knowledge, besides being a great source of
pleasure, and very desirable, will often enable
him to explain phenomena in the habits of nun•
ny plants that otherwise would appear explica-
Wheat, althonjt considered by some as it
native of Sicily, originally came from the
central table-land of Thibet, where it exists as
a grass, with small mealy seeds.
Rye exists wild in Siberia.
Banl ,, y exists wild in the mountains of llim
alnya.
Oats were brought from North Africa.
Millet, one species, is a native of India, an
other Egypt and Abysinnia.
Maize, Indian corn, is of native growth in
America.
Rice was brought from South Africa, whence
it was When to India, and thence to Europe
and America.
Peas sic of unknown arigin.
Peaches are natives of Germany
Buckwheat came originally from Siberia:and
Tartary.
The Garden Bcan from the East Indies.
Cabbage grows wild in Scicily and Naples.
The poppy was brought from the East.
The sunflower from Peru.
Hops came to perfection as a wild flower in
Germany.
Saffron came from Egypt.
The onion is also a native of Egypt.
Iforsc•radish is from South Europe.
Tobacco is a native 01. Virginia, Tobago,
and California, Another species bas also been
found wild iu Asia.
The grasses are mostly native plants, and so
are the clovers, except Lucerne, which is a na•
tire of Seicily.
The gourd is an Eastern plant.
The potato is a well known native of Peru
and Mexico.
Coriander grows wild near the Mediterran•
can.
Anniso was brought from the Grecian Archi•
pehigo.
Cuetors EXTRACT EROM A SCOTCIT NEWS.
PACER is 1807.—Copy of n painters's bill pre
sented to the vestry for work done in a church:
To a now pair of hands for Daniel in the
lion's den, and a new set of feet for the lion-
To cleaning the whale's belly, varnishing
Jonah's; face, and mending his left arm.
To a new skirt of Joseph's garment.
To a sheet•anchor, n jurpmast, and a long
boat of Noah's Ark.
To giving a blush to the check of Eve, or.
presenting the apple to Adam,
To painting a now city in the land of Nod.
To cleaning the garden of Eden after Ad.
am's expulsion.
To making a bridle for the Samaritan's
home, and mending ono of his legs.
To fitting a new handle in Moses' basket
and binding bulrushes.
To adding more fuel to the fire of Nebuchad
nezer's funs co.
Received payment,
.
THE OLBEST BIBLE IN AMERICA.—Dr. J. 11.
Witherspoon, of Greensborough, Alab. has a
manuscript Bible, which be believes on evi
dence of tradition and title page, to be have
been written about A.l). 840 or 830, making it
over 1000 years old. It is 8 in. broad and 3 in.
thick. It is written on parchment, as soft
and nearly as thin as satin. The covers are of
English oak, and pegs of oak are used to wedge
in the thongs of deer-skin that fasten in the
leaves. The pages are beautifully illuminated
with red black and blue ink letters—very large
at the beginning of each book.
JESUIT INFLUENCES are at work to destroy
the credibility to the statements of Miss Ind,
ley, who escaped from the convent at Etnmets
burg. tier plain .story, however, cannot be
controverted, and it seems proper that legal
investigation should take place. Convents are
anti•republiean and anti. Christian, and should
not be tolerated in this country.
VOL. 19. NO. 51.
t lamer.
He that by the plough would thrive,
Him: elf mutt either hold or drive.
Agricultural Knowledge.
Knowledge is something which too many of
our farmers think unnecessary to be coupled
with agriculture. They think it only necessary
for professional men, that a farmer has neither
need nor business with it, and it would be west.
ing time nod money in giving agood education
to a boy intended for a farmer. Now if knowl
edge is useful to a professional man why could
it not be to a farmer? Why could notthe latter
bens much benefltted by it as the former—and
would not it be of the same advantage to him?
The time was when agriculture was looked
upon as something of little consequence, but that
time is past, and it now ranks amongthe first of
sciences. Its beauteous noble parts have been
brought out before the world by menof talent.,
and had not such nien taken them in hand, they
would have been slumbering in obscurity yet;
and we can only sustain it in its present posi
tion, and raise it still higher, by acquiring use.
ful knowledge ourselves, and by educating our
children. For, couple any pursuit with ignor
ance sad it sinks—link it with education it will
rise.
It will never do to think that, if a boy can
read in the Testament, scratch a little with the
pen, and solve a few questions in the Rule of
Three, ho is sufficiently learned for a farmer.
He might crowd hinvelf through the world with
that ouch, if Nature had been with her
tiffs tohitu. But withoutlthetfiekle dame's' assis•
tepee, we think he would make little progress.
But give him a good education, and he will go
through the world honored and respected by it,
be a benefit to his noble calling, and an orna•
meet to society.
We live in an age of improvement, audmust
keep up with the march of the same. There
are too many who follow in tke footsteps of
their fore-fathers, and think nothing can be dune
well, sinless it be performed after the fashion
of their ancestors. Their modes suited their
age, not ours. Fanners arc not alive to their
interest as they•should be, and unless knowledge
has a more general flow among them, they
must remain behind the age. Many farmers
cannot afford to give their sons a classical edu
cation, but they may all give them a good Eng.
lids education ; they have it iu their power to
raise the Free School to such a grade as to
have all the English branches taught in them.
_ .
Lei ihtni make their eons acquainted with nii
the English branches, and see what a differ
ence there will he in the next generation of
farmers.
We should not only attend to the rising gen
eration, but improve ourselves by studying and
reading such books and papers as are eulenla
to improve us in our noble pursuit. We spend
many hours in indolence and foolish conversa
tion, which, if spent with useful books, would
be of vast use to us.
The beauties of agriculture are to an igno•
rant man as though they n•ere not, therefore
not appreciated by bite. He lives and sees
the things grow around hitn—he knows that if
he plants a certain kind of seed that it would
grow and produce seed; but how it grows, and
what it feeds upon he door not care to inquire.
"One man there was, and many such you migh t
Have met, who never had a dozen thoughts
In all his life, and never changed their course;
Buttold them o'er, each in its 'enstomed place,
From morn till night, from youth till hoary age,
Little above the ox that grazed the field,
His reason rose ; so weak his memory,
The name his mother called him he scarce
Remembered; and his judgment so untaught,
That what nt evening played along the swamp,
Fantastic clad in robe of fiery hue,
lie thought the devil in disguise, and fled
With grieving heart and winged footsteps home,
The word philosophy he never heard,
Or science; never heard of liberty,
Necessity, or laws of gravitation ;
And never had an unbelieving doubt.
Beyond his native vale be never looked ;
And thought the visual line that girt him round
The world's extreme, and thought the silver
moon
That nightly o'er him led hor virgin host,
No broader than his father's shield."
How different it is with the enlightened far•
mer ; he derives pleasure from everything that
grows around him, in watching its growth, in
observing what it feeds upon. He knows by
examining the soil what kinds of grain aro best
adapted to it. Ho understands the philosophy
of almost everything around him, and feels
ready to exclaim with a celebrated poet :
"Happy the man who knows the cause of
things."
lair Horses should be kept in warm but well
ventilated stables. Every horse should have
his blanket on at night ; an old piece of rag
carpet will answer a good purpose when you
are not disposed to incur the expense of a reg
ular horse blanket. At any rate have a cov
ering of some kind for your horse at night,
and use the curry comb freely by day, and
with ordinary- attention to his other wants, and
you will have the services of a good horse for
twenty or twenty-five years, instead of eight or
ten, as is generally the case.
KILLING Fowt.s.-..0n1y turkeys and geese
should be bled to death--the flesh of the chick.
en becomes dry and insipid from loss of blood.—
The best plan, says the Poultry Chronicle, is
to take a blunt stick, such as a child's bat, or
a boy's wooden sword, and strike the bird a
smart blow on the back of the neck, about the
third joint from the head; death follows in
moment.
giarrlmter of Paris slacked limo, wood
ashes, :Ind common salt, combined in due pro
portions, nay, after all, at the same or lose
cost be more profitable to the fartnerthan 807
manure yet known.